


Under a Tin Roof

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-12
Updated: 2007-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic





	Under a Tin Roof

"Think it's ever gonna stop pissing it down out there?"

"Well it'd have to eventually."

"Yeah."

"I mean, there's got to be laws of physics…"

"Yeah. What the hell do you know about physics, anyway?"

"Fuck all," Paul replies with a shrug. Smoke billows in a curlicue above his head, and he runs his hand over his stomach. It's accident that the movement rucks his shirt up; it's not accident that John notices and tosses Paul that wicked little grin that would make a royal guard blush.

"Touch yourself for me," John murmurs, and Paul's raised eyebrow could cut through butter. Possibly the bread as well.

"What? No! Fucking… no. How stoned are you, anyway?"

"Enough," John replies with a smile that is almost coy. "Come now, Paulie, don't get shy on me."

"I'm not…"

"Don't you want to, Paul? Just a little? You're hard."

"Not because of _you_!" he splutters, starting to get to his feet but then realising he's a little dizzy, that they've inhaled more marijuana than he thought. His bum plants itself on the bed and now John's eye level is almost dead even with his crotch, from a few metres away.

"Doesn't matter _who_, Paulie," John coos, and Paul's skin is hot. He hates the fucker's voice. He hates that he wants to listen. "Close your eyes," John commands in a rough whisper, and he stares defiantly for a moment before he does it. John leans forward and takes the rolled cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag of the hashish (and it's gotta be fucking laced with _something_, Paul knows now, just like John to give him something fucking special without bothering to mention it) and blowing it in Paul's face. He inhales the smoke, and his hand toys with the hairs beneath his navel, stuck like a skipping record as John just keeps fucking blowing smoke on him, aiming now not so high, hitting him in the chest.

"Take it out," John demands, and Paul takes a deep, hitching breath before he does. "Good…" John sighs, the smile audible, "…good. Now wrap your hand around it. C'mon Paulie, you know what to do."

And he does, of course he does; it would be easy too to pretend that John isn't even in the room but he doesn't do that, no, not even with his eyes closed he doesn't do that. He sighs a little when he takes his cock in hand, and the drugs aren't keeping him from getting hard but he wonders in the back of his mind if this is going to take a little longer than usual. John doesn't seem to be in a hurry, and neither is Paul, actually, neither is Paul as he reaches up and licks his hand and strokes slowly, feels the sensation and slip of just-moist skin and listens to the roar of the rain on a tin roof.

Later, much later, John whispers it – "come for me, Paulie," – and fuck if he doesn't do it. Fuck if it isn't for John.


End file.
